Chapter 214: Trouble Comes Knocking

Hansha City, inside a modest inn.

Two figures lay on a rough wooden bed—one man and one girl. Nearby, at a small table, a silver-haired middle-aged man quietly gazed at the unconscious girl.

"Such a familiar personality…"

This man was none other than Chen Xiaoming. He spoke softly, as if remembering something—or someone. A figure in white briefly flickered through his mind, ethereal and peerless. His lips curled into a wry smile.

"…Fine. I'll help you, just this once."

He rose slowly and stepped toward the bed. His eyes passed over the gaunt man and the girl beside him.

The man had suffered grievous injuries: his body ravaged, invaded by cold, his internal organs barely functioning.

His breath was faint—he hovered on the verge of death. Any ordinary healer would have already given up and walked away with a sigh.

"He's hanging on. His life hasn't run out yet. He can still be saved."

With a murmur, Chen Xiaoming flicked his hand, and a pill appeared in a flash of radiant light. He pried open the man's mouth and gently slipped the pill in.

The pill dissolved instantly. A warm energy spread through the man's body, gradually healing his wounds. The red glow imbued in the medicinal energy drove out the invading cold, slowly restoring his vitality.

The man's injuries were severe—too severe for even Chen Xiaoming's pill to awaken him immediately.

Satisfied with the stabilizing condition, Chen Xiaoming turned his attention to the girl.

Her legs were a mangled mess—flesh torn open, her shredded clothing soaked with blood. It was a sight that would make even the most hardened cultivator wince.

"…Stubborn little girl."

With a wave of his right hand, a faint stream of immortal qi swept over her. The damaged flesh and fabric separated cleanly. The immortal qi nourished her body, and her wounds began to regenerate at a slow but steady pace.

He didn't use a pill like he had for the man. Her physical injuries weren't as life-threatening. Her real torment had been mental—exhausted and tortured by the harsh elements, she had collapsed under the overwhelming pain.

As the immortal qi dispelled the residual cold within her, warmth flowed through her veins. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open.

The first thing she saw was Chen Xiaoming's face—aged, yes, but still strikingly handsome, softened by a gentle smile.

"S-Senior…"

"You're awake."

Chen Xiaoming nodded and turned back toward the table, pouring himself a cup of tea as if nothing had happened.

"…Father?!"

The girl's expression shifted to alarm. She spotted the gaunt man beside her and, in a flash, climbed off the bed. Bracing herself for pain that never came, she looked down in disbelief. Her legs, once shredded, were whole again.

She rushed to her father's side, her hands trembling as she reached for his.

Warm. She could feel a steady, powerful pulse.

Relief flooded her heart.

Thud!

She turned and dropped to her knees, bowing deeply toward Chen Xiaoming.

"Thank you, Senior, for saving our lives!"

She wasn't a fool. She knew exactly who had rescued her and her father.

"Hm."

He responded with a curt nod. Her sincerity pleased him.

"Your father still needs time to fully recover. You may rise."

He poured another cup of tea and handed it to her. She accepted it nervously, her hands fumbling.

Memories of her failed trial returned. Though she had hoped to become Chen Xiaoming's disciple, she no longer dared to ask.

She sighed quietly, glancing back at her father. Once he woke, they would leave—she wouldn't impose further.

Time passed in silence. Chen Xiaoming sat quietly, sipping tea. The girl, unsure of where to place herself, fidgeted awkwardly.

"…Mm?"

A faint sound came from the bed. The man stirred, slowly opening his eyes. Gone was the blinding snow—he now stared at the wooden ceiling of the inn.

"Father! You're awake!"

Her joyous voice rang out. The man blinked in confusion, and before he could react, his daughter was beside him, helping him up.

"Qian'er…"

He turned, only to see her weeping with joy. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"Huh? My wounds…"

As they embraced, the man's brow furrowed. He noticed his internal injuries, every single one, had been healed. Even the crippled dantian he'd carried for years had miraculously been restored.

Though no spiritual qi circulated yet, hope had been rekindled.

"Qian'er… Father has recovered!"

Darkness that had long plagued his heart lifted. He began to circulate his cultivation technique, and a faint wisp of spiritual energy entered his body once more. Though just a sliver, it was enough to ignite a spark in his eyes.

"That's wonderful, Father!"

As father and daughter wept with joy, Chen Xiaoming continued sipping his tea in silence.

At the girl's prompting, the man finally looked toward his benefactor, rising from the bed to bow respectfully.

"Senior, thank you for your life-saving grace."

His gaze was clear now, filled with renewed vigor—a stark contrast to the broken husk he had been.

Chen Xiaoming gave a casual nod. "Now that you're both well, you can be on your way."

The dismissal was clear. The man's expression shifted subtly. He glanced at his daughter, who gave a slight shake of her head.

After a long pause, he bowed once more and turned to leave with her.

He had assumed the girl had passed some test to earn Chen Xiaoming's help. Now, it was clear—he'd misunderstood entirely.

As they stepped through the door, they were halted by a sudden shift.

"Come back."

The command, though soft, rang with authority.

Both father and daughter paused, confused, but turned back obediently.

"No need to close the door. Someone's coming."

With a sweep of his divine sense, Chen Xiaoming had already detected the approaching figures. A group of cultivators, aggressive and swift, was headed straight for the room.

Aside from the matter with the two before him, he couldn't think of anyone else in the northwest who would seek him out.

Step. Step. Step…

A chorus of steady footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Moments later, a group of middle-aged men clad in blue robes emerged.

At the forefront was a man in his forties. A broad sword was strapped to his back, and the aura radiating from him was razor-sharp—oppressive, like a honed blade unsheathed and ready to strike.

"Hmph. So you were hiding here," he sneered coldly, his gaze locking instantly onto the lean man among them.

At the table, Chen Xiaoming, who had been calmly savoring his tea, set down his teacup with a quiet clink. His expression remained composed as he glanced casually at the girl standing behind him.

"What are you standing there for? Pour me some tea."

Startled by his sudden command, the girl hesitated for a beat before quickly stepping forward. She picked up the teapot with both hands and began pouring the tea carefully, not daring to spill a drop.

Chen Xiaoming gave a small nod of approval, clearly satisfied. Then, lifting his gaze, he looked unhurriedly toward the figures gathered at the entrance.

"What brings you all here today?"

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